


poor unfortunate souls

by sinaddict



Series: Jack's Smirking Revenge [1]
Category: Profiler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-22
Updated: 2007-12-22
Packaged: 2017-10-07 20:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinaddict/pseuds/sinaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Jack, Jill, and baby Jude.  The perfect family."</p>
            </blockquote>





	poor unfortunate souls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empty_marrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empty_marrow/gifts).



> Season 2 AU. Most of this was written before I got my season two dvds, so the descriptions of Jack's lair are somewhat off. Written for [empty_marrow](http://empty_marrow.livejournal.com/) for the 2007 Profiler Secret Santa exchange. Hope you enjoy, Robin!

**IDENTITY**

"She needs a 'J' name, too," Sharon pets Frannie's newly blonde hair like a child stroking a Barbie doll as they lounge in Jack's king size bed. Sharon is the picture-perfect big sister when she's not falling into fits of paranoid jealousy over what Jack's plans for Frannie might be. Jack did not react well to the last stunt she pulled trying to get rid of Frannie; probably, Frannie can look forward to Sharon treading very carefully for the next couple weeks. "Don't you think, Jack? Something that fits her."

"Yes, she does," Jack agrees, watching them indulgently as he chain-smokes in the corner. "What do you think?"

Sharon beams at the praise and the solicitation of her opinion, cuddling Frannie closer and looking down at her with a hint of parental pride that Frannie never got from her real parents. (She'll totally take Sharon's bipolar mood swings and occasional homicide attempts if it means the rest of the time, she gets to bask in the glow of being wanted.) Curling into Sharon's side, Frannie smiles back at her.

All day, Sharon's been in a fantastic mood, patiently waiting at the salon for Frannie's hair to be dyed, cut, and styled to Jack's specifications, then carefully applying Frannie's makeup to meet with Jack's approval. They have plans to go shopping tomorrow, although Jack won't let them do that by themselves since he thinks Sharon's taste in clothing still tends toward the trashy side. But Sharon promised in a giggly, big sister whisper, they'd get Frannie some totally hot leather pants and black minidress, because, as Sharon put it, "Every girl needs the basics!"

Sharon is the sweetest person in the world when Jack is pleased with her. Frannie happily reaps the benefits.

"It has to be one syllable, like ours," Sharon decides, blood red fingernails tapping against Frannie's skin lightly, and Frannie nods in agreement. Probably, Frannie would nod in agreement to being called Gertrude or Hortense right about now if it guaranteed she could stay with them. "Jude, maybe. Or Jess. Jane."

"Jude," Jack strokes his goatee, thoughtful, as he approaches them. Long fingers tipping Frannie's chin up to study her in the blue-tinged shadows and spotlights. She finds herself holding her breath, just like Sharon, desperate for Jack's approval. "Jude."

"It's perfect for her, don't you think?" Sharon asks, tilting her head to imitate the way Jack is looking at Frannie. Frannie looks back and forth between them, waiting for their verdict before allowing herself to commit to one opinion or another. "Jack, Jill, and baby Jude. The perfect family."

"Yes," Jack lays a hand over Sharon's on Frannie's hair. "Perfect."

'Perfect,' Frannie thinks in echo, because, really nothing else has ever been.  
 

**CONFESSIONAL**

She clings to Sharon's arm as they make their way down the dark, unfamiliar street. Sharon's holding the umbrella so they don't end up soaking wet from the rainstorm, but every step is kicking up droplets from puddles around Frannie's bare ankles, and her coat isn't keeping the chill out. "Are we there yet?" she lets just a hint of whining into her voice, knowing how much Sharon loves to play mom when the opportunity is given to her.

"Almost," Sharon promises, wrapping her free arm around Frannie's shoulders and hugging her. "When we're done, we'll stop for hot chocolate, okay?"

"Yay!" Frannie deliberately acts younger for Sharon's benefit. When Jack's pleased with Sharon, Frannie plays the little kid, the daughter, so that Sharon can be the older, sophisticated one. When Jack isn't pleased with Sharon? Well, then Frannie's the one trying to keep Sharon in hand so she doesn't piss Jack off even more than he already is. "Can I have whipped cream? And a cherry?"

"You can have two, Baby J!" Sharon runs a finger down the bridge of Frannie's nose with an indulgent smile.

The pay phone booth looks like it hasn't been cleaned since the beginning of time, but it's covered and just big enough for Frannie and Sharon to squeeze in together. Sharon lifts the receiver and hands it to her, dropping change into the coin slot as the dial tone skips to signal they can call. Frannie holds the receiver on her right side, tilting it so that Sharon can listen in as she starts dialing the number. "How much time do I have?" Frannie pauses before dialing the last number to ask.

"Jack said no more than forty-five seconds," Sharon lifts her wrist to watch the time. "Ready? Go."

Frannie dials the last number, waiting through four and a half rings before Bailey's voice comes on the line with a groggy greeting. It's not hard to make her voice sound despondent and guilty; there's still a little part of her that actually does feel guilty about how everything went down, even though Jack's told her over and over that it wasn't her fault she was born to shitty parents. "Dad?"

"Frances?" Bailey's voice turns startlingly awake. "Where are you, Frannie? Are you okay?"

"Define okay," she says, hint of bitter in her voice even though she's never been more okay in her whole life. She's a fantastic actress. Oscar-worthy, really.

"Frannie, tell me where you are," Bailey pleads. "I'll come get you. We'll get everything worked out, I promise."

"You promise?" Frannie asks incredulously, so close to laughing she can barely contain it. Sharon pinches her side, warning, and she jabs her elbow into Sharon's rib in acknowledgment. And annoyance. "Look, I just wanted..." she trails off, trying to inject a hint of longing and despair into her tone. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Baby, please," Bailey says. "Just come home."

Sharon stiffens at the FBI using her nickname for Frannie, and Frannie quickly reaches over with her free hand to grab Sharon's, reassuring. The last thing they need right now is Sharon saying something that'll ruin the illusion Frannie's out on the streets, alone. Jack would be pissed, and nobody benefits from Jack being pissed. "I gotta go," she says quickly, hanging up the receiver even though her forty-five seconds weren't up yet. "We're good, Mommy."

She only calls Sharon 'mommy' when Sharon is dangerously close to losing it.

Sharon turns as much as she's able to in the tiny phone booth, pressing her hand to Frannie's cheek and stroking her thumb up Frannie's cheekbone possessively. "You're our baby, Jude. Ours. Nobody else's."

"I know," Frannie nuzzles into Sharon's hand, leaning up and brushing her lips against Sharon's. Sharon responds to touch more than words; Frannie's learned to always back things up with action where Sharon is involved, just to get her point across. "Just yours. But, you know what Jack wants them to think..."

"Yeah," Sharon nods, carmine lips smearing her own lipstick with the deep vampire red she chose for Frannie's earlier, kissing her again. Sharon likes to mark the things she thinks belong to her. "Come on, Baby J. Let's get your hot chocolate and go home to Daddy."  
 

**GRAVITY**

John hasn't slept in days, but from the looks of Bailey, he's nowhere even close to the current VCTF insomnia record. Between Frannie's lack of recent communication, the emergence of Jack's new partner, and Coop's death they're all running a little close to breaking point lately. Sitting in the conference room, waiting on Bailey's arrival, he says to no one in particular, "I need a drink."

No one comments on the fact it's barely ten in the morning.

"That should be our motto," Grace says from across the table as she looks over her files. Anyone who didn't know her well would've taken her tone as serious bordering on bitter, but John's worked with her long enough now to tell the difference between that and her dry sense of humor. "Well, that, or 'Sorry, honey, it's work again.'"

"Personally, I prefer, 'Truth, Justice, and the American Way,'" George contributes.

"There's no way in hell I'm wearing tights or spandex," John replies, shuddering with mock-horror at the thought. "Come December, I'd freeze. And the cape would constantly get in the way of my shoulder holster."

"You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?" the corners of Sam's mouth turn upward in amusement, her eyes sparkling a bit. It's the first time since Coop's funeral John's seen that spark in her eyes, and he desperately wants to keep it there. He has no qualms about embarrassing himself if it means making his friends laugh, so he pretends to bluster and come up with outrageous excuses until he actually gets a laugh out of her.

The effect is ruined the instant she catches sight of Bailey's face in the doorway.

John always finds it just a little creepy how quickly Sam can read people. And how accurately. It probably wouldn't be as creepy if she was wrong once in a while. Dread washes over her face like a storm surge, and Gracie and George see it right away too, abandoning their work. Sam's voice is oddly calm as she asks, "What'd Jack do now?"  
 

**DIFFUSE**

Sharon is in a temper tantrum, the likes of which Frannie has never seen before. Jack has locked himself in his office with his computer and his god-only-knows-how-many pictures of Samantha Waters, and Frannie hates, _hates_ when they fight like this. "You asshole!" Sharon screams, smashing vases of red roses against the office door and tearing the apartment to shreds. Sharon is not taking the discovery of Samantha Waters as well as Frannie had hoped she would. "I hate you!"

Frannie moves purposefully across the room, plucking the undoubtedly expensive modern glass sculpture from Sharon's rampaging hands and setting it on the floor. "Mom. Mom. Mommy, please," she grasps Sharon's wrists, forces her still and looks her in the eye, pleading for some sense of normalcy. "Come on, let's go out. Let's go do something."

It's the 'mom' that does it, Frannie knows. Sharon will respond to that role when she won't respond to anything else. Sharon exhales, raking a hand through her hair and pulling herself together in just a few seconds. "Okay, Baby J. Go get your coat. It's cold outside."

Frannie scrambles into the other room for her coat, scribbling a note out for Jack since she doesn't dare say anything through the door while Sharon's there. Sharon would see it as her taking Jack's side, and then there'd be no reasoning with her. She leaves the note propped up against Sharon's teddy bear on the deep blue bedspread and rushes back out to Sharon, escorting her out of the apartment without bothering to lock the door.

Jack would take care of anyone who dared intrude.

"Let's go shopping, hmm?" Frannie keeps her voice upbeat, hopeful as she guides Sharon out to the street. "I need something pretty to wear. Maybe I'll meet a cute boy."

"Boys are useless," Sharon replies, predictably now that's she's in mother mode. She hails a cab and orders the driver to take them downtown, imperious. "And you're too young for them, anyway."

An hour into their shopping trip, Frannie spots trouble before it spots her. "Mom," she grasps Sharon's hand, tight, a signal. When Jack isn't pleased with Sharon, she often disregards the rules and pisses him off more, and Frannie needs her to do exactly what Jack has planned for this situation if they have a chance in hell of surviving. "Go home and get Jack, now."

"What?" Sharon looks around, anything but subtle, but hearing the tenseness in Frannie's voice.

"FBI," Frannie whispers, praying John Grant doesn't see her for another few precious seconds so she can get Sharon out of the way. "Go. Now. Jack will know what to do."

"Love you, Baby J," Sharon squeezes her hand back, then leaves, silent, and Frannie can at least breathe now. She's got a better chance of making this work without worrying about Sharon doing something stupid, and she quietly browses the racks of clothing, watching John out of her peripheral vision. He's talking to the clerk, but glancing around the store while he does, and she turns her head just slightly when he glances in her direction. Luckily, her couture sunglasses and blonde hair are more of a disguise than the FBI is probably expecting from her, and John's glance skims over her without interruption.

When he leaves, she breathes in slowly and gives herself another agonizingly long few minutes before she departs the store, just in case. Just in case, she takes several cabs on a roundabout journey back to the apartment, and she can hear Sharon, hysterical, from the first floor landing. "They can't keep her, Jack! She's ours!"

"I know that, Sharon," Jack's voice is tight, carefully controlled as always. "I'm not going to let anything happen to her."

"Happen to who?" Frannie opens the door and walks in, projecting utter calm, and both of them freeze, looking at her with a sense of wonder and relief that she's never had anyone direct toward her before. One look at Sharon's wrecked eye makeup and tear-streaked face, and Frannie is across the room, hugging her. "It's okay, Shar, I'm fine."

Sharon's arms are boa constrictors around Frannie, suffocatingly tight, and she's crying as she says, "Oh, god, Baby J. Baby J."

Jack closes in behind them, wrapping his arms around Sharon and enclosing Frannie in his embrace, and Sharon is all-out weeping now. Frannie breathes in deeply, the scent of Sharon's flowery-sweet perfume and Jack's nicotine-laced roses surrounding her, and this is home like she's never had one before. "Jude," Jack says, quietly. "You did well, baby."

And Frannie smiles.  
 

**DUOTONE**

The first time Jack takes her out with him and makes Sharon stay behind, she thinks she very probably should sleep with one eye open for a while. To say Sharon is not pleased is the understatement of the year. The second time, she sort of expects Sharon's ire to come down on her somehow, even if she's not quite sure how until it actually happens.

Three hours in a basement that smells vaguely like rotting wood, and she almost hates Jack for putting her in this position. She and Sharon get along great so long as there's no reason for Sharon to think Frannie's replacing her. Sharon hasn't pulled this stunt since the day after Jack first brought Frannie home, and Frannie's kicking herself for letting Sharon get the drop on her like this.

"Oh, poor Jude," Sharon coos, all sugar-sweet sympathy as her bloody fingernails pierce either side of Frannie's jaw, pulling her face close enough to press their lips together. Nuzzling her nose against Frannie's in a garish parody of an eskimo kiss, she giggles. "Did you miss me?"

"No."

Sharon tsks, pulling back with a pout and tracing a finger across Frannie's collarbone as she absently slinks her way around the chair she tied Frannie to hours ago. Threading her fingers through Frannie's hair, she pulls. Hard. "Don't be like that. You know I wouldn't just leave you here."

"Oh, you so would if you thought you'd get away with it," Frannie rolls her eyes. "Untie me."

"I don't want to."

"Come on, Shar," Frannie inclines her head, giving her best innocent, 'I only want to help you' face. "We both know Jack's going to get here sooner or later, and you know he'll be mad if he finds out you did this again."

"Maybe he won't find you," Sharon challenges. Frannie literally bites down on her tongue to keep from making a remark about how utterly stupid Sharon can be sometimes, but apparently her expression conveys the sentiment. "Hey! I've picked up stuff from him, you know. I learn."

"No, you do not, Sharon."

Sharon freezes at the cold voice coming from the doorway behind her, and Frannie can't help but feel sorry for her. Sharon's like a four year old who resents a new sibling sometimes, and she's got about as much impulse control and foresight when she's paranoid. "We were just playing a game," Sharon tries to look wide-eyed and harmless, but comes off more 'caught red handed and doing damage control.'

"What did I tell you the last time?" Jack moves toward them, flicking open a knife with a soft snick. He leans down, and the ropes fall away from Frannie's ankles and wrists. He lifts one hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear as she tries to rub feeling back into her hands, and she almost wonders why he's not playing the distant mentor on this one, making her get out of it on her own. His fingers lingering over the marks Sharon left on her jaw, he asks, "Are you hurt?"

There's really no question what she's going to say, even though she knows better than to lie to him. "Of course not," she shakes her head with a smile. "Like she said, it was just a game."

There's no way in hell Jack believes her, but his expression doesn't change.

"See?" Sharon lays her hands against Frannie's shoulders and starts kneading like she intends to massage away the stiff ache she caused. It would have come across better if the talons she called fingernails weren't digging bloody crescents into Frannie's skin. "Just girly fun."

"Right," Frannie blithely pretends it doesn't hurt. "I get to tie her up next."

"I'll show you how to tie the knots," Jack's grin is predatory and sends chills up and down Frannie's spine. Sharon's nails dig in harder, and she's close enough for Frannie to feel her shivering. "Wouldn't want her getting loose prematurely, now would we?"  
 

**CHECKMATE**

"Wait, _what_?" Frannie folds her arms over her chest in disbelief. "That is _not_ fair!"

"Life's not fair, Baby J," Sharon smirks from the corner of the room as Jack moves forward and tries to placate Frannie with soothing touches and fingers tucking stray locks of abominably-blonde hair behind her ear. Sharon kind of wrecks the moment, though, adding, "Besides, you're just not old enough yet for this."

Frannie glares at her, then turns her menace on Jack. "Now, Jude," Jack grasps her arms, voice calm and reassuring. It is not buying him any help at all with her at the moment. "The FBI doesn't need to know that you exist. _Yet_."

Sighing, Frannie attempts her best little-girl pout and baby voice even though she knows it's not going to help change Jack's mind the slightest bit. It works on Sharon sometimes, though, and she might be able to con Sharon into taking her along if she plays her cards right. Stamping her foot, she makes herself look forlorn and forgotten. "But how'm I s'posed to learn if I never get to go anywhere?"

Sharon tilts her head, eyebrows wrinkling just a bit as she glances at Jack. "That's a good point."

"She's not ready yet," Jack says, outwardly to Sharon, but he's looking straight into Frannie's eyes. She shivers before she can stop herself, and okay, maybe she isn't ready to go out and kill people yet, but how's she ever going to learn if Jack won't let her try it out? She only ever gets to watch him kill and listen to him lecture on the proper technique--she's going to forget everything he says if she doesn't get to use it! Jack seems to sense that he's on the wrong side of the majority and says, warning, "Girls."

"Fine," Frannie looks away, morose and dejected, and that manages to get Sharon's empathy. Sharon winks at her while Jack's not looking, and Frannie deliberately makes sure she shows no reaction to it. Score; she totally got Sharon on her side for this one, and Jack doesn't have a clue about it. Yet. So, it won't be much fun when he finds out later, but hopefully she'll prove herself in the field and he'll have to grudgingly admit it was a good idea even though he didn't approve it at first. "But I want souvenir presents."

"You have to earn presents, Baby J," Sharon sparkles, glittering with the thrill of having a secret and a conspirator. Frannie is aces at making Sharon feel like she's smarter and more necessary in the grand scheme of things. She slinks forward to press a soft kiss to Frannie's lips before turning to repeat the gesture with Jack, who looks somewhat indifferent to her affections. "Isn't that right? If she's a really bad girl, you'll bring her back something pretty like a good daddy?"

"Of course," Jack agrees. He always seems the slightest bit uncomfortable somehow when Sharon refers to him as Frannie's dad. Frannie supposes even serial killers have moral boundaries about threesomes with their 'daughters.' She still finds it intriguing, though, since neither she nor Sharon has any boundaries about anything.

She doesn't dare try to connect those dots aloud when Jack is around. She waits until a few days later, alone with Sharon, to mention it.

"He's just not as action as we are, Baby J," Sharon gleefully slices the victim Jack has chosen for this plan with a theatrically-large blade that very well may qualify as a small sword. She gravitates toward weapons that look like they'd be at home on the set for a silent film with a mustache-twirling villain.

Sharon would totally haul around an axe or an uzi if anyone was insane enough to give her access to one.

The blade splatters blood across the walls and the shiny vinyl rain ponchos they'd bought at the mall to protect their most-definitely-not-approved clothing choices. ("Jack's out of town," Sharon had giggled over racks of halter tops and skimpy dresses. "He'll never know.") Blood pools on the floor around her stiletto spikes like the raspberry syrup on the pancakes Frannie made her for breakfast earlier. "He's from a different... what's the word for big age differences, again?"

The guy tied up and bleeding gurgles incoherently around the duct-tape gag Frannie had instituted after the first five minutes, despite Sharon's protests that she wanted to hear his screams. Frannie really doesn't understand why Jack's willing to send Sharon out to kill people by herself, but Frannie's not allowed the same independence; Frannie is definitely the more sensible, responsible one.

"Generation," Frannie supplies the word as she artfully arranges red rose petals around the room for atmosphere. "I guess that's true. He's kind of... uptight. For somebody who doesn't blink planning this shit, anyway."

"Uptight," Sharon laughs and slashes the blade across the man's left cheek, tutting with mock-sympathy at his whimpers before doing the same thing to his right cheek. "He really is. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."  
 

**EROSION**

Frannie makes her first kill the same day Sharon decides to _impress_ Jack. Unfortunately, Sharon's long-range planning is shit and her plan to make herself Jack's best apprentice involves clumsily kidnapping an FBI agent she intends to kill. "Oh, Jesus," Frannie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. At least Jack is out of town until the morning, so she has a shot at keeping him from finding out about this and punishing Sharon. "Sh--Jill. This is really not a good idea."

"You're just saying that so Jack will keep taking you with him instead of me."

Frannie sincerely hopes John is actually unconscious and not just faking it, because otherwise they're all in deep shit and she doesn't know how to fix it. "No, I'm not. I'm trying to keep you out of trouble. You know how Jack feels about surprises."

"But this is a good one!" Frannie winces, and Sharon rushes on, "I'm going to get rid of one of the FBI agents, and then they'll be too busy to bother us for a while."

"Oh, honey, no," Frannie shakes her head. "Just... no."

"Baby J, who's the mom here?"

Of course that would come back and bite her in the ass, Frannie thinks. "You are."

"Right. I know what I'm doing."

'Oh, you really don't,' Frannie wants to say, but that's not going to get them anywhere but going around in circles, and they don't have much time for Frannie to make this work. "I know," Frannie agrees, grasping Sharon's arm and stroking her fingers up and down. Giving her best innocent pout, she asks, "But I saw him first. Can't I play with him for a little while before you get rid of him?"

Sharon tilts her head, sly smile spreading across her features. "Baby J!" she exclaims, grinning and clapping her hands as she looks John over. Threading her fingers into the hair at Frannie's temple, Sharon pulls her in for a kiss, playfully biting Frannie's lower lip. "Do you want me to show you how to do it?"

Part of her almost wants to go for it just to make John squirm, but if she does let Sharon play, there's a very good chance it'll end in blood being drawn from all parties involved, and that just doesn't fit Frannie's agenda at the moment. "I should figure it out on my own," she tells Sharon, idly making her way over to the where Sharon has John chained up; Frannie almost admires that Sharon actually learned Jack's lesson about rope and proper knots and used chains instead. "Give me an hour alone with him."

Frannie waits until the door shuts behind Sharon and sighs heavily. "Just fucking perfect." Observing John carefully, the way Jack taught her to, she comes to the conclusion that Sharon actually did do _something_ right, at least, and managed to knock John out. "What am I going to do with you now?"  
 

**INTERMISSION**

Frannie barely makes it back to the warehouse in time to stage the scene and make it look like John escaped. She deliberately slams her head into the corner of the table, giving herself a wicked headache and a wound that continuously drips blood in her eye. It very well may require stitches.

Of course, Sharon would pick this time to be running late.

It takes her over half an hour to get an irate Sharon calm enough to drink the vodka she'd spiked with some of the sedatives Jack keeps in his pharmaceutical kit. Another half-hour for the drugs to kick in, and Frannie doesn't even think to deal with her head wound beyond slapping a cursory bandage over it. A bit of blood dried to her hairline, and it's much more noticeable against blonde than it would have been against her natural color, but she doesn't have time to wash it out. She throws on a nondescript hooded sweatshirt and a pair of skinny jeans that Sharon, against Jack's wishes, had a gaudy rhinestone 'Baby J' embroidered onto.

Jack picks his battles when he has to fight against their united front.

She stashed John in an abandoned South Side building that usually houses raves in the wee hours of the morning. Luckily, Sharon has no sense of discretion when Jack's gone and chose to kidnap an FBI agent in broad freaking daylight, giving Frannie at least a few more hours to deal with the situation. She has no idea how this is going to work out yet, but on the old scout principle, she tucks knives into each of her ridiculously expensive boots and wraps a garrote wire loosely around her wrist to look like a bracelet.

After a blink of hesitation, she secures one of Jack's guns against the small of her back. She usually prefers guns over the other kill methods Jack has taught her, but there's something unsettling about this particular situation; she refuses to admit to herself what that probably means.

Unlike her biological parents, Jack doesn't hide his weapons from her. He gives her the combinations to the locks (which are really only there to prevent Sharon's temper tantrums from resulting in _situations_) on anything she wants to learn about. He counsels her on which weapons are best suited for which situations, and teaches her how to inflict maximum damage with her choices.

She doesn't want to kill John, but she will if she has to.

Sharon may have made a stupid, reckless choice, but Frannie's still going to protect her.

Either John thinks she's a moron, or his natural instinct when cornered is to play dead. Or maybe, both. "I can tell you're faking," she rolls her eyes at his seemingly unconscious form. "Or you're really uncoordinated and managed to knock yourself out trying to escape. The chains were piled on the right when I left."

John's eyes cautiously slit open and he looks at her. "Frances--"

"Not anymore," Frannie chuckles wryly as she tucks her thumbs into her sweatshirt and pulls it off, turning to drop it on the lone abandoned chair in the corner. Gives John a clear view of the gun, hoping to preempt any stupidity on his part. "Jack and Jill went up the hill and found themselves a daughter. And you're god damn lucky she's me, otherwise you'd already be dead."

She moves purposefully across the creaking floor that's covered with confetti and stains vaguely resembling a Jackson Pollack painting, unceremoniously unlocking the chains. He doesn't move right away, instead nodding up and to the left slightly as he asks, "What happened to your head?"

She's almost impressed with how he manages to look concerned about it.

"Anybody else asks, you did," she touches the bandage with a wince and draws her fingers back to find them stained red. No wonder she has a pounding headache, still. Peeling away the useless bandage and tossing it aside, she says, "Huh. Guess what they say about head wounds bleeding a lot is true."

He reaches up slowly, like he's afraid she'll misinterpret any movement as a threat. It's almost amusing. Fingers against her temple, he tilts her head back and forth to angle the light across her face and examines the cut. "Might need stitches. You should see a doctor."

"I'll get right on that," she says, dry, and drops the key to the chains in his lap. "Let's do this the easy way, yeah? You walk out of here, and I don't shoot you."

There's a flash of something in John's eyes; anger, maybe, at how glib she's being about shooting people after what she did to Bailey. He quickly suppresses it, though, and pushes himself to his feet. "Why?"

"Why walk out of here?" she deliberately misconstrues what he's asking. "I guess if you're really fond of the place, you could stay. What the stains on the floor are could be an interesting mystery to solve."

"Why let me go?" he doesn't rise to the bait. "Jack doesn't handle people ruining his plans well."

Frannie can't help but laugh at that. "Do you really think we'd be having this conversation if this was one of _Jack's_ plans?"

To his credit, John puts the pieces together pretty quickly with that information. He doesn't move much even though she's wandering around the room, and she wonders if it's because he's planning something, or because he just doesn't want to push his luck with her. He surmises, "Sharon was acting on her own."

She doesn't blink over the fact the FBI knows Sharon's name; Jack must not have wanted it kept secret if they found it out. "Of course Sharon was acting on her own. Nobody else would come up with a stunt this dumb and think it was actually a good plan."

"Jack doesn't know she did this?"

"Jack knows all, Jack sees all," Frannie lies smoothly. She really, really hopes it isn't true in this case, but chances are Jack is going to find out what happened sooner or later. Still, the FBI doesn't need to know that Sharon is impulsive and rebellious. "Just because he doesn't concern himself with it doesn't mean he isn't aware of it. _I_ chose to pull your ass out of the fire."

"Why?"

"You're like a three-year old with all the 'why's, John, and I already have a headache," she sighs as she absently swipes blood away before it can drip in her eye again. He crosses the room and grasps her wrist, and before she fully processes it, she's got the knife from her left boot to his throat, edge a hair away from slicing into his jugular.

Jack would be proud.

John lets go of her wrist, hands up in the universal gesture of surrender, and maybe he had the right idea before about sudden movements. She didn't realize until just now how anxious she actually is about getting out of this situation. "Sorry," John backs a step away from her, placating. "Didn't mean to startle you."

She exhales slowly, forcing her mind blank the way Jack taught her. "Just go. Call this one a draw and stay out of Sharon's path next time. Or gain some weight and go bald; she wouldn't be nearly as interested if you were fat and ugly."

The corners of John's mouth twitch up slightly. "I'll keep that in mind."  
 

**MEMENTO**

Jack doesn't like needless identifying marks. Like tattoos. His reasons are perfectly logical, so Frannie doesn't argue much when he tells her to have the butterfly removed from her beneath her belly button. Every other girl her age is starting to get butterfly tattoos somewhere, and Frannie doesn't ever want to be a conformist part of the crowd.

Of course, Jack probably didn't intend for her to go out and get a different tattoo.

"Where do you think?" Frannie asks Sharon in the reception area of a Brooklyn parlor, one of the best in New York. Talking Sharon into disobeying Jack's direct orders is never that hard; it's almost easy in comparison to convince her to do something she knows Jack probably wouldn't like but that he hasn't specifically banned. "Back of my shoulder? Small of my back?"

Sharon tilts her head, studying Frannie carefully. "Hmm. You know where would be perfect?"

"Where?"

"The back of your neck," Sharon wraps a hand around the back of Frannie's neck, tugging her forward and rubbing their noses together with a giggle. The receptionist smiles indulgently at them as she answers the phones, and Frannie smiles back at her. "Think about it--perfect. If you need to hide it, you can just wear your hair down."

"So true!" Frannie nods, twisting her hair up and turning her head slightly to look in the mirror behind the receptionist. Sharon took her to a salon earlier and had her hair tinted a darker blonde that's right on the line of being brunette. Again, not something Jack had expressly banned, but not something he'd probably be thrilled with either. He's going to be all kinds of annoyed at them when they get home. "I don't know why we didn't think of this sooner."

The needles hurt like a bitch. By the time the artist is finished, Frannie's eyes are burning with tears she won't let fall. Sharon comments, "It's all red."

"No shit, Sherlock," Frannie bites out, fists clenched so tightly her fingers are picket-fence white as the artist covers his work with a bandage and gives her instructions on how to care for it the next few days. Frannie is suddenly very happy they did the salon first, because there's no way in hell she'd be laying in a shampoo chair after this. "I need a fucking drink."

"It'll be so pretty," Sharon promises, all wide, innocent eyes and childlike glee as she clings to Frannie's hand. "So worth it, Baby J."

Frannie thinks she'll probably be more inclined to agree once the pain dulls, but she's still going to make Sharon tell Jack. There's not a much more identifying mark than having 'Baby J' tattooed across the back of her neck. "Yeah, right. Maybe you should have 'Property of Jack' tattooed on you, and then we'll talk."

She really didn't think Sharon would actually do it, but she should've known better by now.  
 

**RESTLESS**

They're each in different parts of the country, but Sharon never lets that keep her from bugging Jack and checking up on her baby. Cell phones were just _invented_ for her, she thinks. Rolling her eyes at Jack's lecture on unnecessary risks and why she can't call him when they split up for plans like this, she lets him get through almost the whole speech.

She swears he has to memorize these things. She's pretty sure they're the same every time.

"Okay, okay, I get it," she pouts. He can hear it through the phone line when she does, she's sure. No matter what she tries, Jack always seem to know exactly where she is and what she's doing. "But it's not an unnecessary risk this time!"

Jack sighs heavily. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"You're not afraid of anything," Sharon scoffs with a smirk adorning her gorgeously, gloriously red lips. (New lipstick. Shopping is almost as much fun as killing is. If she could just figure out a way to combine the two...) "Baby J rigged up my phone so it can't be traced."

"How did she manage that?"

"I dunno," Sharon rolls over on her boring, bland hotel bedspread and studies her nails to make sure she didn't chip them on the chains earlier. If she could tie a knot like Jack could, she'd never use chains again. They're murder on her acrylics. "She tried to explain it, but I didn't get it."

"Are you certain she accomplished what she was trying to?"

"Please," Sharon says. Baby J sounds just like her saying it, she thinks proudly. She's teaching Baby J all the things Jack can't. Or won't. "She wouldn't give it to me if she wasn't sure. Besides, nobody has our numbers, anyway."

"Never be confident--"

"--to the point of stupidity," Sharon finishes, nodding along. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

"And yet you never manage to actually utilize the knowledge I give you."

"Don't be like that, Jack," she frowns, nails forgotten at that tone in his voice. She hates when he acts like she's ungrateful or disappointing or whatever; she knows she owes him everything, and he should know she knows. "I'm being careful. I'm following all the rules. I won't do anything to get you or Baby J in trouble."

Jack's voice softens, turns just a bit--what's that word Baby J used?--indulgent. Yeah, Jack sounds _indulgent_. "I know you'd never do anything to put our family in jeopardy, Sharon."

The compliment spreads like hot oil all over her skin, and she smiles as she turns over onto her back, tracing pretty, unbroken fingernails over her collarbone, down her stomach. "I miss you."

"Tell me how much."  
 

**PHANTOMS**

Frannie has full access to Jack's information net. She doesn't often use it, but there's not a password Jack won't give her if she only asks, and her memory is flawless in her recall. Jack's giving her more and more freedom lately to plan with him and make her own choices of victims, and she's starting to develop her own sources and contacts with his help.

Checking the FBI databases regularly is simply a precautionary measure.

Checking on John Grant in a Boston hospital is just keeping tabs on the enemy.

It's a good thing Jack doesn't question her every move, because there's no way he'd buy that one. Frannie strides past John's room in nurses' scrubs, peripherally verifying the lack of security detail to be safe before slipping in. The light is much more dim inside than the blinding fluorescence in the hallways, and it takes her eyes a few seconds to adjust.

"Frances?" John asks sleepily, trying to sit up as he squints at her. Great, she thinks. The one thing she didn't take into consideration before plotting this little bout of insanity is going to get her caught. If she doesn't die from the embarrassment of it, Jack might kill her for being this dumb.

"Not anymore," Frannie replies as she brushes a few stray locks of dark blonde hair from her eyes and makes her way further into the room. "You're dreaming this. It's the drugs."

"Huh. 'Kay," John agrees, laying back, eyes half-lidded. "What do I call you?"

"Crazy," she rolls her eyes at how bad an idea this really is.

"Fits."

"Shut up."

"'Kay. Hey, your hair is blonde."

She can't help but laugh. "They're really giving you the good stuff, aren't they?"

"Uh-huh. I can't feel my toes."

"Toes are useless, anyway," she shrugs and perches herself on the edge of his bed. "Call me Jude."

"Call me Ishmael."

"I never would've guessed you read that book."

"School," he explains, then squints at her again. "Are you really here?"

"No."

"I'm dreaming?"

"Yeah."

"Then I can do this." He moves surprisingly quickly for being high as a kite, pulling her off-balance, and she instinctively tries to brace herself from letting her full weight fall on his broken ribs. (She read his file. She can list every injury from his moderate concussion to his fractured ankle.) Before she can react, his mouth is on hers, and she's so surprised she runs with her instincts and kisses him back. When he finally pulls back, she's so dazed it takes her a minute to register what he's saying. "How come you're not wearing the hot nurse's uniform?"

"Your brain is punishing you for the concussion," she tells him, just barely keeping a straight face. "Be glad I showed up instead of a nun with a ruler."

"That could be fun."

"Maybe next time."  
 

**NARCOTIC**

Frannie freaks the fuck out when Sharon is arrested. So much so that Jack is compelled to sedate her and tie her up so she doesn't pull a Sharon and do something stupid and reckless and impulsive. "Okay," she tries again as the drugs start kicking in and the world blurs and skitters around her. Her voice is hoarse from screaming at him. "I get it."

"No, you don't," Jack shakes his head, almost amused. "Although, you are quite good at faking it."

"I'm good at faking a lot of things," she snipes half-heartedly, blinking a few times as his face blurs out of focus and then back in. "What'd you give me?"

"Ativan."

"Hmm," she relaxes in the chair, rolling her head and cracking her neck slightly as she continues trying to subtly undo his knots. It's a lot harder since she keeps losing track of the necessary movements to reverse the knots, though. "You can't let them have her."

"Don't be ridiculous, Jude." Jack looks at her like she's suddenly lost fifty IQ points and confessed a burning desire to work in law enforcement. "Of course I'm not letting them have her. She's simply gotten herself into a situation that will require a great deal more thought and planning to get her out of than usual."

Letting her head loll to the side slightly, she sighs and tries to think clearly through the layer of fog wrapping her brain. "We have to get a message to her. They'll... do something. Manipulate her. Make her think we don't care."

Stroking his beard, Jack nods in consideration.

"Make it something obvious," Frannie blinks. Her eyelids keep drooping down, and she's fighting the urge to pass out. "Roses. A card. A... fuck, do you have anything that'll wake me up?"

"Nothing I intend to give you."

She feigns losing the battle with unconsciousness and desperately hopes she doesn't actually pass out before Jack leaves. She's put the idea in his head, and they both know Sharon well enough to know that with the right insults from the FBI, Sharon can be easily manipulated against them. He'll want to deal with it sooner rather than later.

Jack unties her and carries her into the bedroom, tucking her into bed carefully and making sure the light in the corner is on for her so that she doesn't bang her shin into the side table in the middle of the night. It must be the drugs that are making her feel the littlest bit guilty about deceiving him--he'd laugh at her himself if he knew what she was thinking.

She mentally recites every caliber, make, and model of gun she can think of to keep herself awake until she hears Jack leave. She doesn't bother with waiting to be sure he's actually gone this time and raids his pharmaceutical kit to find something to counteract the sedative. Unfortunately, she can't remember off the top of her head what the actual drug names are, and Jack doesn't label anything with the 'for dummies' explanation of what it does.

Well, shit.

"Think, think, think," she smacks the heel of her palm against her forehead with each syllable. Her cell is still on the table, and she crawls on hands and knees over to retrieve it, leaning back against the solid cherry oak chair frame and dialing from memory. How the hell she even remembers the number, she has no idea; that John hasn't changed it is an even bigger surprise. "This is all your fault, you know," her words are blending together slightly as she responds to John's groggy greeting. (Not slurring, she thinks obstinately. That would be sloppy and Jude is never sloppy.)

"Frannie?" John's voice turns alert almost instantaneously.

"Not anymore."

There's a pause, probably short but seeming a lot longer when she's fighting to stay awake. "Jude?"

"Huh. Thought you were too out of it to remember that," she says, and her eyes won't stay open anymore. Either the foundation of the building is sinking on the left, or the drugs are affecting her sense of balance along with her ability to think clearly. "You wouldn't happen to know what drug counteracts a sedative would you?"

"Hang on, I'll call someone and find out."

"Yeah, whatever." Even knowing the modifications she's made to the phones, she should probably be a whole lot more worried about the possible consequences of calling the fucking FBI. She really, really hopes the masker she put on her cell line works properly and Jack can't see the numbers she's dialing on the phone records. "Where's your tracer say I'm calling from?"

"Hong Kong."

"The sushi here is amazing."

"Hong Kong is in China. Sushi is Japan."

"I knew that," she yawns halfway through and wonders if her words even made sense. "Just testing you."

"What are you on?"

"Ativan." Matter-of-fact, and oh, Jack will kill her if he finds out about this later, even if it's his own fault for drugging her. She can't be expected to maintain a sense of long-term planning about the consequences of her actions when she's high. But she wouldn't have this problem in the first place if the FBI hadn't stolen part of her family away from her. Accusatory, she tells John, "It's all your fault."

There's a niggling sense of déjà-vu in the back of her mind, like they've had this conversation already, and she just can't quite place where or when. "Okay," he agrees, tone placating and soft like he's trying to keep her from doing something Sharon-like. "Why is it my fault?"

"You took Sharon."

"We _caught_ Sharon."

"Same fucking thing. She's not here." The floor rushes up and slams the side of Frannie's head, and it stuns her for a few seconds into opening her eyes. Bottles of pills and liquids are scattered across the floor, intermingled with syringes and alcohol wipes. She should've put it all away before; now Jack's going to know she was up to something when he gets back.

John's voice is sliding away from her ear, words rushing together too quickly to make any sense. The phone thuds against the hardwood flooring, little blue lights blurring like traffic signals through a rainy car windshield. Her arm is heavy as she reaches out and pulls the phone closer. Her voice sounds strange and tinny to her own ears as she tells John, "I want her back. You can't keep her."

She barely has the presence of mind to fold the phone closed and end the call before she finally passes out.  
 

**EPIDEMIC**

He doesn't tell Bailey he's heard from Frannie. To do that, John would have to explain that Frannie has actually been with Jack this entire time, that she actually considers Jack and Sharon some kind of twisted family. Even if it would be for Bailey's own good to know, John can't be the one to break him down like that.

Of course, not telling anyone makes it that much harder to explain why he needs to talk to Sharon Lesher.

"You," Sharon's smirk melts into a kind of fury John very rarely sees on a woman. "You hurt my baby."

His first thought is if Sharon ever had it, she's lost it now. Her wrists are cuffed and resting demurely on the table, and she's staring at him like she would slash his throat with her nails if she thought she could do any damage. It takes him a second to realize what she's talking about. "Jude?"

Sharon blinks, just a hint of uncertainty at how he could know that. She gets over it quickly enough, though. "She needed stitches after what you did to her. You're lucky she didn't scar. Jack would've made you beg for death if he found out."

"Why didn't he?"

"How dumb do I look to you?" Sharon rolls her eyes at him. "I'm not telling you anything."

"That's your right," John turns on the charm for the hell of it. Frannie did mention that one time that Sharon found him attractive--it's worth a shot to use that angle. "So, why don't I tell you my theory about why your 'baby' would call me, drugged out of her mind, last night?"

"You're lying." Sharon does not have a good poker face. Her worry stains her features and permeates her tone of voice. John figures Sam will break her down by the end of the week. "She wouldn't."

"Probably not if her head was on straight," John agrees. "But after Jack drugged her? She wasn't thinking very clearly."

"No, he wouldn't," Sharon shakes her head violently, shoving herself back from the table and out of her chair. The guard starts to charge in, but John signals him to stay back; Sharon doesn't appear to be coming after him, she just seems to need to move. "He wouldn't."

"She asked what counteracted a sedative."

"Amphetamines," Sharon says, apparently before she even realizes it since she looks as surprised at her own response as John is. Sharon's record says she never graduated high school, and John has known drug dealers with less knowledge about drug interactions. "She knows that. She told me. She wouldn't call and ask you that. You're lying."

John stays quiet, letting her get more and more antsy.

"You know, you could find out for sure," he says after a few minutes, offhand, like he's just thinking aloud. Sharon's head snaps up, eyes narrowing, focusing on him, and he goes in for the kill, so to speak. "I could bring in a phone and let you call her..."

'And get George on tracing the number,' he thinks to himself. Frannie may have been able to get around his standard-issue tracer, but there's no way she could get around some of George's questionably-legal tricks.

Silence.

Sharon stares at him for a long moment before she starts to smile. It's unnerving. "Hmm," she laughs and the echo of the sound skates down the back of John's neck like a cockroach on a hardwood floor. He's clearly underestimated Sharon. "What do you know? Our little Baby J got under your skin. She's good at that, isn't she?"  
 

**EGGSHELLS**

The logistics of trying to steal a body from the FBI's morgue are downright dizzying.

Jack is vehemently against Frannie's plan to retrieve Sharon, more so than she's ever seen him opposed to anything that didn't involve harm to his precious Samantha. (And yes, that _is_ resentment, although it's more on Sharon's behalf than Frannie's own.) "It's a completely unnecessary risk," he tells her as he smokes in the corner. "There's no reason to even try."

"Since when do we need _reasons_ to kill people and create mayhem?" Frannie doesn't bother looking at him and focuses on cleaning her guns properly. She's not sure when precisely they became _her_ guns, but Jack seems to have come to the same conclusion since he bought another one for himself and doesn't touch hers. "I'm doing this with you or without you."

"No, you aren't. You'll do what I tell you."

"Okay, _Bailey_."

Jack stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray and stalks over to her. Fingers under her chin, forcing her gaze up to meet his, and she doesn't even blink. His voice low and dangerously silky, he asks, "What did you just say?"

She would have to be suicidal to be totally unaffected by that tone of voice, but she stands her ground despite the chill spreading over the back of her neck. This is too important for her to give in to that common-sense fear Jack can easily provoke when he wants to. "You heard me."

"That impulsiveness got Sharon killed, you know."

Anger flares through her at those words so quickly she almost can't control it. Almost. She bites down on her lip until she tastes blood and deliberately lays her gun flat on the table. Her control is second only to Jack's now. He releases her chin suddenly and rakes a hand through his hair. "Give me one logical reason to do this, and I'll consider it."

The smartass remark is on the tip of her tongue, but she holds back. There's a limit to how much shit Jack will put up with, and she's fairly sure she's already straddling the line. She carefully considers how to answer for a moment, and finally says, "They don't get to keep her and do god-knows-what to her just because she's dead."

Jack scrutinizes her, silent, for a long moment. "I'll get Sharon."

"Then I'll create some distractions for the FBI," Frannie picks her gun back up and starts cleaning again. She'll take victory where she can; it's not essential that she be the one going into the morgue as long as the end result is her being able to decide what happens to Sharon's body. "Which one of them pulled the trigger?"

"No killing any of them yet."

"Killing them would be letting them off too easy. I want them to suffer."

"That's my girl," a smile curves his lips upward slowly. Jack expressing pride in her like that never fails to make her all warm and fuzzy inside. She probably gets that from Sharon. "If I told you it was Malone that pulled the trigger?"

"He took something of mine." She slams the cartridge back into the gun and double-checks her work, pushing any niggling pangs of guilt away with thoughts of Sharon. Meeting Jack's inquisitive stare head-on, she smiles, Sharon's gleefully malicious smile. "Now I'll take something of his."


End file.
